Not that she was crazy about Matt, because she wasn't. How could she be crazy about a man after ten minutes in the backseat of his car? Strawberries give you hives, but you're still crazy about them. She pushed the thought aside.
The bottom line? She'd never be able to look Matt in the eye, or anywhere else, if she backed out now.
She glanced down to check her slacks. Tan. They shouted efficient and in-charge.
Her blouse? White. White for calm, all emotions under control. She frowned. Maybe white hadn't been the best choice. White for… virginal, and virginal didn't quite suit the picture of the successful thirty-one-year-old businesswoman she was trying to appear.
She wouldn't have to worry about getting chocolate on it. Tonight she'd just be doing some sketches, getting a feel for the sculpture. Feel. She'd have to make sure that feeling didn't enter into this. Neither physical nor emotional. She'd only be able to do this if she was in control— of herself, of her work.
And Matt would have no doubt that she was in charge. She allowed herself a small, smug grin. He'd be naked and she'd be fully clothed. He'd be vulnerable, at her mercy. Yes!
Her power moment evaporated as she heard the front door open and footsteps move toward the kitchen. She scrambled to her feet. For one frantic moment she imagined him standing in the threshold in all his naked glory. She wasn't ready yet, hadn't made the mental preparation, couldn't…
She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to relax. Stupid. He wouldn't have to take all his clothes off for a few days. She'd carve his head first. Slowly, carefully. Then his chest. That would take a long time. Had to get those pecs just right. Maybe after that she'd skip to his feet. Feet took ages. Toes were very detailed work. And legs? Legs would take a long time to plan.
When he opened the door she gazed at him with what she hoped was a serene expression. "Well, looks like everything's ready." Except me.
Striding over to the pillar of chocolate, he circled it. "Milk chocolate? Don't you think bitter would be a little more… masculine?"
She looked at his worn jeans. She wondered what lay underneath. Briefs or boxers? Maybe… nothing? Her lips curved up at the thought.
"You think my idea is funny?" A small frown line formed between his incredible hazel eyes.
"No, no." She tried to look serious. "I value your input, but remember that chocolate is for eating, and eventually those women will eat this. Milk chocolate tastes better." She coughed to get rid of the husky note that had crept into her voice, and blinked frantically to banish the mental picture that refused to go away. Matt and her mouth shouldn't be allowed in the same thought.
"Okay, you've got a point there." He stood with his back to her, studying the chocolate.
She slid her gaze across his shoulders. His black T-shirt stretched across muscle and flesh. Not the same shoulders she remembered from when he was eighteen. They had been the same width, but without the strength, the maturity.
Surrendering to the pull of gravity, her gaze followed the curve of his back to his buns. Magnificent buns. They hadn't changed. Every girl at Ball High had rated them as buns to die for. During the frantic moments in Matt's backseat, she hadn't even gotten a chance to touch them.
And you won't touch them now if you're smart, the reasonable part of her brain interrupted.
He turned around and she raised her gaze just in time.
"Look, I had a flat tire on the way over. I feel dirty and sweaty. Do you mind if I use your shower before we get started?" His gaze was steady. No embarrassment. Just a ho-hum sort of attitude.
Cold. Really cold. Well, she was hot enough for both of them. Her face felt like the Hot-as-Hell Chili that was one of her Texas specialties. The thought of him naked in her shower was too much. She needed breathing room to regain her self-control, her business persona, her—"The shower's all yours. Oh, and keep all your clothes on tonight. I'll just be working on your head." Just get out before I run flapping and clucking into the street.
He nodded, then disappeared up the stairs.
Matt leaned against the tiled wall of Ann's shower and took slow, deep breaths. His pounding heart ignored the hint and continued its runaway gallop. Damn, this wasn't going to be easy.
He'd rather strip in front of a mob of crazed women down at the Bare Truth than stand naked in front of Ann Hawkins and watch her twist a strand of her long brown hair around one finger as she studied his body with detached interest.
Taking off his clothes didn't bother him. Taking off his clothes in front of someone he'd known since first grade did. Those eight minutes in the backseat of his Ford didn't count. They had been hot and hungry and frenzied. Normal.
When she looked at him, would she see the ten-year-old who'd dumped his vanilla cone in her lap so she'd notice him? Would she remember standing up, brushing the dripping ice cream from her dress, then hauling off and socking him? He'd sported a black eye and a bruised ego for a week. Shoot, who'd believe he'd remember that?
Or would she just see a business partner? A sexless and nonthreatening one. He turned on the cold water with a jerk, then stood stoically beneath the icy cascade. Hell, anything was better than nonthreatening. Nonthreatening was vanilla pudding, lime Jell-O. He wanted her to see him as…
What? He soaped his body, then scrubbed with enough vigor to redden his skin. He wanted her to see him as someone other than the partner who handled the money, the eighteen-year-old who probably still held the record for doing it in a backseat the fastest, the ten-year-old with the ice-cream cone.
He wanted her to see him as… a man. Sliding the washcloth between his legs, he stopped. Closing his eyes, he imagined her hand slipping between his thighs, cupping him, then— He opened his eyes on a low groan. Who the hell got hard in a cold shower, and what the devil was that woman doing to his mind?
He stumbled from the shower and dried himself quickly. Think boring thoughts. Warm beer. Empty backseats. Pulling his clothes on, he glanced down to evaluate the situation. His body's reaction was not too obvious. Not great, but okay.
Pausing at the head of the stairs, he drew in a deep breath. The next two weeks wouldn't be that bad. He'd think of it as unfinished business. Working to correct a misconception he'd given her when he was young and foolish. Right. And that episode in the shower a minute ago showed how controlled and unaffected you are.
Choosing to ignore that last thought, Matt strode confidently down the stairs.
Chapter Two
Ann listened to the pad of feet descending the stairs. Confident. Bare. But they might as well have been hobnailed boots as they clomped across her imagination.
Stay calm, professional. His feet might be bare, but the rest of him wouldn't be. She could handle this. She glanced at the front door. Nope. Too late to run.
Before she had a chance to think any more calm, professional thoughts, Matt was in the room with her. "That was quick. I bet a cold shower felt good."
"How'd you know I took a cold shower?" He walked over to stand beside her. Oh, no. Sandwiched between the chocolate that made her hallucinate and the man who made her tingle. She was dead.
"The cold-water pipe squeaks. I heard it down here." Up close his jeans seemed a little tighter, his T-shirt clung a little closer. "Not that I was listening. I mean, your cold showers are your business."
"I'm hot." He pushed his still-damp hair away from his face.
"You always were." Remember. The rolled-down windows letting in the sound of waves crashing on the Bolivar beach, letting out the brief moans of… what?
"Are we talking about the same thing, sweetheart?" He put his arm, still damp from his shower, across her shoulders.
"Probably not. I think the smell of all that chocolate is making me hallucinate." Remember. The friction of his sweat-dampened body against her stomach, between her legs.
"You don't like it? I think the smell of chocolate is kind of exciting. Reminds me of Easter. How do you feel about chocolate bunnies?"
She shrugge
d. "They're not all they're cracked up to be." Remember. The excitement, the anticipation, then the thrust. Afterward? Nothing. A sense of incompleteness, embarrassment. "I can take them or leave them."
"Cynical and jaded tonight, aren't we?" He dropped his arm from her shoulders and moved away.
"Some things don't live up to their hype." She hadn't touched any stars that night, only reality. Sex wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and it didn't lead to everlasting love.
"I bet you liked chocolate bunnies before you married old what's-his-name." He'd grown suddenly serious.
"Old what's-his-name didn't turn me off chocolate bunnies, but he taught me a lot." He'd taught her that just because you married a man didn't mean the sex would be great. "About time." Okay, so the sex had lasted a little longer than ten minutes, but longer than ten minutes could seem like hours when you weren't having fun.
"That's all? He taught you about time?" Matt still looked serious. "Great marriage."
"Yeah. I guess that's why it didn't last." Maybe that was all there was. But then why had she felt the hot response, the want, in Matt's backseat before he'd actually…? "I wanted more." Maybe she expected too much. Maybe the preview was always better than the main attraction.
Stop it. She'd promised herself she'd stay focused. "Sorry, I drifted a little."
He smiled, one of his rare, sweet smiles. "The chocolate?"
"It does strange things to me."
"Guess there's hope yet."
She didn't understand, and she wasn't about to ask. "We can get started. I'll work on the head for a few days, then move on to another part." She'd work on the head slowly, carefully. Maybe she'd just make a giant head. A naked head.
"What other part?" He ran his hand down the side of his thigh in the familiar motion that always triggered her thoughts of jeans, then no jeans, then her hand sliding down his bare thigh.
"Oh, probably the upper torso. That'll take a couple of days, too." Hmm. Maybe she could stretch it to three if she went very, very slowly.
"Okay, the chest and stomach are done. Then where do we go?" He walked over to the counter and picked up a bunch of grapes.
"The feet and legs. Very difficult. Gosh, I could spend days and days on them." She stared at his bare feet planted firmly on the tile floor. Strong feet. Man's feet.
"Umm. Then where? Remember, you only have two weeks."
She returned her attention to his face, watched as he bit off a grape with even, white teeth. She watched as he chewed, then as he licked a drop of juice from his lower lip. "The lip. Definitely the lip." Glistening, sensually full, pressed against her lips.
"Did that."
"Uh, sorry. I was just thinking about the… dimensions for the mouth." And the tactile qualities. "After I finish all that I'll do whatever's left."
"So, how long will 'whatever's left' take?"
She shrugged. "Oh, maybe an hour."
"I think I'm insulted."
She didn't think before she spoke. "An hour is a lot of time. An hour is more than some people take to do things that should last a lot longer." Uh-oh. Foot-in-mouth moment.
He offered her an angry grunt. "Just because we did it in six minutes—"
"Five." Lordy, zip my lips. Fourteen years. The subject had lain dormant between them for fourteen years, and now it suddenly sprang to jeering, embarrassing life.
"Right. Women never forget these things. I was eighteen years old, for cryin' out loud."
His anger wouldn't have touched her, but the small note of vulnerability in his voice, his eyes, did. "Sure. We were just kids." All these years she'd thought she was the only one who'd walked away feeling unsure, used. Maybe she hadn't been rattling around alone in that box of insecurity.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make that crack about five minutes. This whole thing is making me uncomfortable."
"You hated it, didn't you?"
Slowly he moved toward her, and the years rolled back. Once again she felt the quivering excitement, the heart-pounding sense of danger she'd felt on that long-ago night when possibilities stretched into infinity.
"Well, time to start carving. This guy won't carve himself." She made a few haphazard swipes with her knife. The way she was cutting, she'd end up with something that looked like a cyclops.
"Busy, busy." He was too close. Close enough for her to feel his damp heat, see his chest rising and falling, fixate on the outline of one hard male nipple. "Oops. How do you feel about only one ear?"
"Okay, so five minutes wasn't a lot of time, but I was young and…" His voice dropped to a husky murmur as he studied her expression. "People change."
"Hey, I think I can save your ear."
The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin, and his gaze grew speculative. "Am I making you nervous, sweetheart?"
"Nope. Nothing to be nervous about." Right. And the sensual cloud threatening to block out her good sense was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"Sure. We're just two friends talking about old times." He reached out and carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Old friends. His brief touch didn't feel like an old friend's.
"We never talked about that night, Ann."
Her unease grew in direct proportion to the unnamed emotion she sensed in his voice. "What's to talk about? It was a long time ago and we're different people."
The scent of her soap on his body and the husky note of something in his voice quickened her heartbeat.
His smile widened. "Relax. We won't talk about it tonight."
She breathed out on a sigh of relief.
"Tonight we have other things to talk about."
He ran one fingertip along the line of her jaw, and her accompanying shiver skittered all the way to her toes. Uh-oh.
"Like what?" Look busy. She made a few more experimental cuts in the chocolate. "Hmm. I think you have a dimple now."
"I'm cool with a dimple."
"Are you cool with a dent in your nose?" She felt more in control now. Nothing would disturb her calm aura.
"A dent is fine. Adds character." He moved a step closer.
Okay, so he might disturb her calm aura just a little. Not enough to worry about.
"We have to talk about your schedule." He ran the callused pad of his thumb across her lower lip.
She almost shut her eyes against the sensual rush of feeling. Run! Her feet stayed planted. Fine. She was worried. "I don't know why this sudden interest in the food end of the business. Where were you last week when Mrs. Hensley decided she wanted beef instead of ham, huh?"
"I wasn't the beef." He shrugged. "This week I am. Now about your schedule." Distractedly, he wound a strand of her hair around his finger.
"My schedule's fine." She reminded herself that hair had no nerves, therefore it was impossible to feel his touch. Hmph. Tell that to her various tingling body parts. "Nothing to talk about. I have two weeks to carve this guy. He'll be done in two weeks." The question is, will I be done along with him?
"You know, I sorta wondered why you were going to spend a lot of time on my head and hardly any time at all on body parts you might not be quite so familiar with. Hmm?" He slid his fingers down the side of her neck and stopped at the spot where she was sure her pulse pounded out a mad rhythm.
"I'm perfectly familiar with all your body parts." God would get her for that lie.
"Really?" He looked interested. "Anyway, it occurred to me that you might think the head didn't have as much… sexual impact as other parts of the body."
"Did I say that? I never said that." She took another desperate hack at the chocolate.
He shrugged. "Hey, calm down. I was just getting those feelings." He didn't move away, didn't give her any breathing room. "But just on the off-chance you're lying to me… Not that you'd ever lie to me. But just on the off-chance, I think maybe I should explain some facts about the head."
"I know all about the head. Eyes, ears, nose, mouth. There. Did I miss anything?"
&n
bsp; "Take the ear." He gently massaged her earlobe.
She knew with despairing certainty she'd never get an earring on that ear again because the hole had just been seared shut.
"I bet you think the only thing I listen to are Astros games." He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I don't. I listen to a lot of other things."
"The fishing report?"
His deep chuckle was the slide of heated velvet along her nerve endings. "Hey, fishing reports make great listening. Anyway, the other day I was flipping through the stations, and I stopped at this one that was playing an old song you'll remember, 'Don't You Want Me.' Know what it made me think about?"
"By Human League? That was the song playing on the radio the night we… Sure, I know what it made you think about." She felt strangely disappointed with him. "Sex." The word reverberated in the silent kitchen. She was sure passersby blocks away had heard the word.
"You're stereotyping, sweetheart." He shook his head. "It made me think about noses."
"Noses?" She didn't get it, but at least he'd bypassed lips. Now to refocus him on chocolate. "I've always been partial to noses. You can't beat the smell of hot chocolate on a cold winter morning."
He didn't look refocused. "That song made me think of a smell I love."
"Hot dogs at a baseball game?" Hot dogs were safe. She glanced down. Maybe not.
He shook his head and his now-dry hair drifted across his shoulders.
"Hershey's bars with nuts?" Please, please let him get back to the chocolate, to their working relationship, to familiar ground.
"Uh-uh. Chantilly perfume. You wore it all through high school. Loved that smell." His gaze turned intense, as if willing her to remember, too.
She remembered. She'd worn it when she was seventeen, worn it to her senior prom. After the prom it had been the only thing she had worn in the backseat of his Ford.
Lips didn't seem so dangerous now. "I haven't used it for years." See me, Matt Davis. I'm not that girl anymore.
"Maybe you should." He sounded distracted. "Okay, forget the nose. Let's move on to lips."
Seduction By Chocolate Page 2
